An Open Letter

Dear Various Unnamed Students of Sakishima High School,

Hi, how are you? Go ahead and take your time with that question, it's a tough one. OK, first off, I apologize for not calling you by your names. I'm awfully bad with names, Japanese names in particular, and odds are I'd mispronounce them anyway. Also, you insist on calling me "potta" or at best, "harripotta," so let's just call it even on that count, deal?

Now, I want to tell you that I understand where you're coming from. English is a very difficult language, I'll admit that right off; it's got countless irregular verbs, silent letters, and dropped vowels. Learning a second language is always difficult, and you're required to do so in a school system that places absolutely no focus on grades, which itself is part of a larger social system that leaves you only two standardized tests with which to plot your whole future. When you're working for no rewards and no real consequences, it's easy to get discouraged. I'll give you that. Plus you have to do it wearing dumb-ass uniforms (pictured). That's rough.

I'll also grant you frustration stemming from the greater political implications of my presence in the classroom. Japan and America have had a stormy past together, after all. You guys were doing your own thing, enjoying a traditional system of government that had abandoned guns, Christianity, international warfare...I mean, hey, you were living the whole "Imagine" vibe, that's pretty awesome. Then in 1853, we showed up at your door with cannons and gave you to the count of ten to cut that shit out. And just when that had receded into the distant past, there was some further unpleasantness. Now's not the best time to point fingers, but it at least bears mentioning that one nation has dropped a nuke on another nation only twice in history, and both times it was us and you. Also, our president threw up on your prime minister. These days, we've colonized your cities with Christmas trees, McDonald's, and baseball diamonds; I'll bet 10,000 yen that as you read this, you're wearing something that says either Nike or Puma on it. It's mandated that you sit in a classroom for years and learn what your grandparents were taught to call "the Language of the Oppressor." All of this history has built up to some curly-haired schmuck from Truman State University getting all up in your face about the proper use of the word your. I understand why you might get a little frustrated at times.

The Face of the Oppressor.

But stay with me here. Our increasingly globalized society has its fair share of drawbacks, sure: corporate hegemony, stifling conformity, the sacrifice of the individual for the greater good, Spanish versions of Scary Movie. That said, though, consider the opportunities we have at hand. I'm here to help you learn, at no cost to you, another way to communicate -- dare I say, even, another way to think. With diligence and patience, you will be able to speak the modern language of commerce and trade, and in learning something about another culture, you may even learn something about yourself. In English you may find a lifelong passion, or even just a skill that might come in handy once or twice. Hell, even if you never leave Japan, knowing some English can help you encounter new ideas or make new friends. I know that slogging through conjugations and cretinous vocabulary games can be discouraging, especially when progress is slow and rewards intangible. But we have chances that our parents' generation could never have dreamed of: we have the opportunity to forge a communal future together, to put together the best of our respective cultures and try to help each other with the worst.

So when I tell you for the dozenth time to put your cell phone away, to write your name on a worksheet, or to sit in your chair and stop yelling, just f***ing do it already.

Wuv,
Harry-sensei

P.S.: Yes We Can!